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Title: Metes and Boundaries Author: Delamore Pairing: DB/KD, KD/NB implied Rating: NC-17 for incest implications A/N: Set sometime post-'Chosen,' but Kelly has blond hair. Wrong thing to do, in retrospect. On the bright side, he's got something to remember for the future. If you do happen to catch David eyeing your brother's ass with something like appreciation, don't tease the man. Certainly don't say things like "nice leer you got there" or "your wife know you're a switch-hitter?" There's always the defensive types, types that don't deal well with cornering, don’t deal well with acknowledgment. And as a rule, tend to deal even worse with discussing their private matters. Hadn't pegged David for being repressed, but the beers probably factored in. After a few drinks, a guy could get disagreeable. It was Kelly's fault, then. Strangely, he doesn't mind. David push-drags him past the bar's bathroom, out to the alley behind the building. Kelly takes a look at water-logged cardboard and broken bottles before David smashes him against the wall. Strong-arm kind of guy--and not fat, just big-muscled. Kelly’s hands are pinned in broad fists; sharp, sweet breath warms his cheek. He should protest, swear, threaten. He's never liked being manhandled and it's chilly out. But, there’s something wrenchingly hot about this position, this granting of control, that Kelly’s hips swivel, body emboldened and wanting. He snorts air, trapping back a whimper. Dave’s eyes don’t melt. They smolder, burn like coal, and his jaw sets in granite. He cocks his head to appraise the situation, the rabbity, jerking man he has stuck to the bricks. Who watches him back, wide-eyed, lips pulled from his teeth. Watches David half-close his eyelids and give Kelly a wine-taster's sniff, deep and anticipatory. Should be odd, out-of-context in this real world of studio lots and scripts, but David's always believable when he's creepy. Disarming, considering his off-screen tendency for hamster-brained joviality. People are rarely what they project. Kelly would comment on that, but it makes a little too much sense. He thinks about switching the play, getting David against a wall, leaning in with thoughts of blood. Might be satisfying, but too reminiscent of old times, other dates. Sometimes, change is good. "Why are you so interested, Kelly? Thinking about selling a story somewhere?" Warm breath, rich as grain and hops, blows over his lips. He works his teeth around bitterness, the urge to bite. Not playing that guy right now. Right now, he's what David expects. And what David expects is what everyone who's met his brother expects. "Yeah, sure, Dave. Because that'd go over so well with everyone's careers. The whole invasion-of-privacy thing's just not invasive enough yet, you know?" He pulls his hands from David's, who lets him go without a crack of expression. "So, Kelly,” Dave breathes, "how is your brother in bed?" His lips stretch into a parody of good-intention. Kelly tries to look away but his eyes go cataleptic. "Apparently, I'd like to know, since I'm leering for him and all." "David--" "Don't. Don't say my name." Voice tightens like a belt, his eyes closing away. Kelly tries again, lips knowing only one word. "Don't. Fucking say anything. Kelly." This is annoying, but manageable. He watches Dave, watching him. Lust uncoils, lazy and warm, filling every pore, filling him gold and clear, like the insides of a bottle. His skin is flushed, charged like batteries. So tense he buckles once, quickly, shivering against the brick wall. He wets his lips, tastes alcohol. Anyone walking by could see them. Nicky could wonder where they went, come wandering out to look. Dave’s face tightens, smoothes out. His eyes are still withdrawn, red from drink. "When did you two start fucking?" If he saw himself now, he'd see his brother. His brother with blonde hair and black eyes. He licks his lips again. Needs to pick up some Blistex. "I don't remember." Pauses. "Sixth-grade. Fifth." Truth is that they've always been connected; one night, one night in a million, they made it literal. No chorus of angels, no sweet pearly rays of heaven. Just the twinness. "It wasn't pretty." David nods slightly, temples flexing. “Get on your knees,” he says softly. “Wait--“ The ground is wet, he's wearing good jeans, someone might come out. “No. Now.” And Kelly feels himself melting to the floor, looking up at Dave, who looks down with inscrutable, glassy-eyes. He circles until his back is at the wall, and Kelly follows, crawling on his hands and knees. The life of his jeans has flat lined. “Zipper.” Kelly’s hands tremble, he’s so fucking horny, mind spinning 'calm down, calm down' like the spokes of a bicycle--and he realizes he’s panting. Shuts it up quick, but the flush stays. Nicky shakes when he's thoroughly worked-up, oiled like a cog, his face fever-red. Shakes when he's picking at Kelly's belt, helplessly tousling Kelly's hair. Unwrapping the condom, his hands stuttering like his voice. "What's he like inside?" Moment of confusion, then a landslide of remembrance. Kelly exhales noisily, gets the zipper down. "He--He's warm. Soft." David nods to this, too, encouraging. "Like a fist. Tight. But--but, he loosens." Kelly doesn't want to share the details, but it kinks something hot and unctuous in his belly. He could be narrating erotica. "You get lost in there. Things shift, pulse." David is heavy in his hand. "He makes th--these noises, little things, like whispers." Hand shaking so violently he's afraid he might rip something important off; manages not to, somehow. If David's worried, he makes no indication. Instead, his voice gravel and oil-slick, he says, "you like it when he fucks you?" The time for modesty is past. Shuddering on his knees, jerking off Nicky's friend--he licks the spit from the corners of his mouth. "Yes." Keeps his eyes open while mouth yawns wide. Tucks his lips over his teeth, but carelessly. Slides a palm up David's inner thigh, his palm greased with nervous sweat. David's balls are heavy, tight; they feel like a patch of elbow-skin. Kelly imagines that they are drawn-up, wanting for Nicky, every speck and scrap with Nicky's name on it. He smiles with his mouth open, hand holding onto Dave's cock like he's got a right to it, licking, swallowing. Shiny, pretty thing, wet with pre-come and spit. This taste is bitter as beer, but sweetened with a dad's diet of baby food and home cooking. Kelly sucks at the bottom of David's cock, sucks it in, flicking his tongue like a whip, a riding crop that knows where to hit hardest. Somehow, he stops his mind from cataloguing David, because this is not like other one-nighters. Needs to remember this properly. Nicky'd mentioned once, snug with post-coital cuddling, that he thought one of his co-stars was Grade-A fuckable. He'd had enough presence of mind not to mention names. Too many incidences of finding Kelly in bed with his own intended conquests. Having the same taste in men, it was only a question of following the libido. David palms his head, pistoning forward once. He's got big, rough hands. Fingers clench like claws, loosen, scratch at Kelly's hair, guide him up and back down. Up and down. Rhythm of life. Seesaws have it down. David smells like his wife's floral soap, like the pink newness of babies, like the sweat-sharp musk of sex; the smells flatter him. He's a domestic guy after all. Kelly pulls back abruptly, twisting from the hands. Anxiety under his skin feels like a suit of wool, makes him itchy. "You eat a lot of fruit, don't you?" A tap somewhere down the line is drip drip dripping into the sink. Bugs him, shit like that. David doesn't respond. Seems lifeless, a statue. Only the slight flush and the rise-and-fall of his chest give the game away. His eyes darken, thunderstorm approaching. Meteorological wonder. "An apple a day," he sing-songs. Kelly tilts his head. "And, okay. Figured it was all that Gerber's shit--you know, 'open up for the airplane'? Bet you’re a good daddy." Squirms as he says it, ducking his head and batting his eyelashes up at Dave. Who doesn't smile, least not with his eyes. Storms still on the forecast. "You're prettier with your mouth closed." His jaw twitches and he looks at Kelly under a hood of brow. "Well, kinda closed. Really liked that "O" thing you had going." Mimes the dick-sucking look, cheeks hollowing, lips puckered. "I really don't like you, Dave." The words drop into the alley with a curious lack of emphasis. He didn't really mean it, anyway. "You jealous of me?" His dick warms Kelly's cheek. Something drips down onto his lip. He laps at it, mini fireworks of salted almonds, with a hint of pear. Gives new light to 'you are what you eat.' "A little," he makes his voice soft, gives David a look; not innocent but in good need of a fuck. Ruthless, if David's got that in him. "You think I'm gonna sleep with him, Kel?" Question clips him in the jaw. He knew it was coming, knew what David wanted. But he didn't need to hear the guy say it. "I don't know. I don't want you to, but you're a big boy. Make your own decisions." "What, you don't think I'm good enough for him?" Lilt of amusement. "Sure, something like that." Kelly makes as if to stand, but David grabs his shoulders, shoves him back on his knees. "Hey--" "We're not finished, Donovan." Thing about Dave. He liked using people's last names, like the brutish jocks back in high school. The guys that bullied Nicky mercilessly, crashed him into lockers, tripped him in the grimy showers. Kelly secretly misses those days, misses sticking up for his brother. They were an inseparable team, all gawky-angles and private circles, closer than those other shits would ever be to anything. "Fuck off, Dave." Dark shape bobbing angrily in front of his face. His mouth remembered the fit, the taste of it. He sneered where David couldn't see. "I know what you're doing, Kelly." "I'm not doing anything, man." "I'm still gonna fuck your brother after this is over, you know that? Maybe we'll talk about this, if it’s worth talking about." Bright spots swim and dance the mambo in his vision. He lets out a careful breath, ignores the anger-tears stinging his eyes. Fine, David thought he knew the game. Congratulations were in order, soon as Kelly found the discipline not to bite the dick swaying near his face. "Seem a little pissed, Kelly. So, you want me to mention this?" Hand snakes through Kelly's hair, snaps his head back. He lets it go, waiting. "And, by the way, will this make me the first guy to bag both of you? Or, just one in a string of many?" "Gettin' a little over-confident, Dave. Your cro-Magnon appeal is lost on most conscious folk, you know." Mock-hissing noise. "That stings, baby." "Let the fuck go." He swats at David's hand, gets only a vigorous shake in return. Instinctively, he goes for the groin. Apparently, the vampire training pays off, despite all the beers. There are three movements, timed like camera flashes. One, Kelly is certain involves his throat, because suddenly breathing seems impossible. Two seems to involve defying gravity, and three. Three is the wall. Hitting against the wall like a linebacker's sled, driven hard down the field. Dave did play college ball. He tries to say something, but the words slip into David's mouth, which is warm, warm and hazy as a mirage. His teeth knock against Kelly's, and then they're both kissing fiercely. Kelly swats a hand against David's shoulder in some weird attempt to get free. Doesn't do anything, but he doesn't stop kissing back. Cold fingers tickle at his waist, and he realizes David is undoing his ruined jeans with hard, reckless motions; it's a good indicator of how this is going to work. From somewhere down the alley, bottles clatter over the ground and both men stop. A mottled alley-cat streaks past them, mouse in its mouth. For a long moment, Kelly looks at where the cat disappeared, his heart knocking wildly against David's chest. If he moves, he'll break the pause. David breaks it for him. "I'm enjoying this little chat, Donovan," he slips his mouth down Kelly's neck, circling over the warm dance of pulse, "but I think we should hurry it up. Don't want your brother to worry." "I'm so thrilled. Fuck you, Boreanaz." "That's sort of the idea. Think of it like a test-run." Hand at his waist again, this time sliding the jeans down. Kelly half-heartedly fumbles with David's fingers. "Test-run? What--" He stops short, body jerking on a whip-crack of anger. Soon as they got back in the bar, Kelly was going to have a word with Nick. There are flashes again, camera shutters clicking open and closed, that tell Kelly exactly what is happening. He fades, and is back, fades, and is back, fades. He thinks that David must give car-dealers a lot of grief; his test-runs probably broke the merchandise. The brick is gummy and damp with things now smeared on Kelly's face. His jeans are a lost cause, rucked up around his ankles. He has a picture in his head, of David’s face, all protuberant brow and narrowed eyes. Finds some diminutive spark of victory that he got to David first. Then something twangs in his back and he's pushing forward to get away from the pain, dumb and whimpering. His fingers claw over the wall, before David grabs at them, pinioning Kelly's arms to the wall. An eternity could've skipped by since they've been out here, but somehow Kelly doubts it. Probably just under ten minutes and oh God, David's never going to finish. Not a terrible fate, but his legs aren't going to last longer. He shivers, more from the air than the fuck. Which is scouringly thorough and more satisfying than having a few beers and trying to act congenial towards all the married couples. Watching Tressa pat her husband's leg, watching them kiss in ignorance of Kelly. And David, apparently. Anyone can see this, Kelly thinks again, shoving back against David. Nick could see it--should see it. The thought is temporary, but it stirs a darkness he'd like to keep hushed. Jealousy, envy, on and on. He grinds his teeth and twists his arms free from David's hands. Reaches behind them, pulling David closer against him, blinking back salt and pain. David takes the suggestion and runs with it. Twines his fingers into Kelly's hair, stretches his neck to the side, open and splayed; David’s mouth, red and wet, slippery warm on his neck, teeth opened in a sharp moon. Free hand wanders to Kelly's cock, makes him jump. David fucks into him viciously, ruthless as a beheading, almost as messy. There are sticky sounds, squelching and slapping. David's balls hitting against his ass sounds like applause. Loud in the alley. Kelly feels himself crawling up the bricks, biting at his lip, not surprised by the tang of copper. He's really going to need a drink after this. David unsticks him from the wall, holds his hips in place with bruising fingers. And does something brutal that makes every motion pain, that sucks Kelly's heart to his feet. Can't trust actors. Onscreen, they may stop to consider the audience. Off-screen, it's about self-gratification. Kelly moans before he can stop it, a low, whimpering, sex sound. He elbows at the softest spot behind him, but David catches it, pushes his forehead into the wall. “You like that?” The words are steam against his ear. Something wet drips down his forehead; it tickles, but he can't wipe it away. “Please--“ Kelly says before he can snuff the sound. “Please what? Please stop, Dave, you’re hurting me, Dave? Or, please, fuck me harder, Dave, I can’t get enough of you? You think your brother would want it hard, Kelly?” There are violent in-thrusts to punctuate the angry, clipped words. "How does he like it, baby?" Splitting thrust. Kelly's going to feel like cleaved melon after this. "Fuck, you're so--" David grunts, licks at Kelly's neck. Says a string of four-letter words that all vaguely pertain to Nick. "That's right, Kelly. Take it--fuck--" David's cock moves easier now, lubed up with spit and pre-come. Kelly's adjusting to it, filled and fatted. It touches a sweet spot that makes him want to cry, and he sort of does. Not going to admit it, though. He grabs at David's back again. Maybe to make him stop, to push him away. But he just wants to inflict some pain of his own, and he relishes David’s intake of breath. Gonna have some wicked scratches to explain to Jamie later. Actually, both he and David will be doing some fancy verbal footwork. Retribution is hard and fast and there’s a second where Kelly swears he can actually hear his body tearing; a meaty, ripped parchment noise. Doesn't matter, it's sweet and biting as whiskey; pride spills down his throat and he wants to kiss Nick right now. Kiss him raw and taste his gums, tell him no one will ever have him they way that Kelly will. So, he kisses David instead, sucking all the bitter from his spit. Making out with a TV vampire, of course it's about the fluids. Then, David breaks away, his lips still open. He’s been eating cherries, red-smeared, sweet. He gets one hand up around Kelly's mouth, the other around Kelly's dick, and fucks him into the wall. The rest is quick, ragged, and when David comes, Kelly clenches around him, can feel the warmth and the dirty-slick leak of David's cock. He snorts against David's hand, biting at his fingers, and the hand on his cock moves, jerks him off perfectly until Kelly has another reason to worry about the story of his pants. Breathing through his nose and hanging like a soiled ornament from David's hands, he decides he'll just take his pants off and give some great story about being mugged. Worth it for the look on Nick's face alone. "Maybe we should do this again, Donovan," David's saying something Kelly hasn't followed. "And you probably shouldn't mention it. Unless you want me to twin-hop." Kelly bites at the hand on his mouth until he draws blood and he can't help but feel satisfied. -End